


we are already red

by CallicoKitten



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Fantasizing, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Smut, Unrequited Love, everyone is in love with Steve Rogers, sorry i don't make the rules here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard slings an arm across his shoulder and drawls, "You too, huh?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are already red

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a really fucking long time ago for a friend and just never posted it so whoops.
> 
> title is from the twist by frightened rabbit

Steve Rogers pulls Bucky Barnes out of hell and drags him into an entirely _different_ kind. This may surprise you but Buck's done some reading, he's a good Catholic boy he knows he bible backways, sideways, frontways and any other way there is to know. Boys like him don't go to heaven. Boys like him get hellfire up their asses and sulphur choked lungs and back in that pit, strapped to a table Bucky Barnes accepted that.

It made sense, he supposes. It was _just._

And then Steve comes. Bucky's personal avenging angel, halo of blond hair and big baby blues and Bucky honest to god thinks he's dead for a few moments.

Maybe he is. Maybe that's what this is all leading up to. The big reveal at the end. He's always been a fan of stories that end in a twist. His Ma was too, come to think of it. 'Cept there the twist was her and Da dying young and bloody and Bucky and his sister being shipped off to separate boarding schools.

No one saw it coming at least.

Here the twist is Steve Rogers doesn't save the damsel in distress, there is no damsel in distress, there's only Carter and she sure as hell ain't interesting in playing that role. So Steve saves Bucky and Bucky's swept off his feet all the same.

Always has been to tell the truth.

It's just, he's not used to people _noticing_ it. Sure, back home there were people who whispered, people who eyed them in the street, Bucky and Steve thick as thieves, share a bed sometimes but who cares, it gets chilly in the winter and blankets don't come cheap. But here, here there is Howard Stark who is probably involved in every perversion on God's green earth and of course - _of course_ \- he picks up on it right away.

It goes like this:

They're debriefing, Bucky's telling Steve and Phillips and Carter all he knows, spilling his guts and keeping his jaw tight so he doesn't let on just how much whatever it was they did _hurt_. Howard's there for no godamn reason Bucky can think of, leaning up against the side of the tent with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his smug face.

"Alright, Sergeant Barnes that's enough," Carter says when Bucky's throat starts to get a little raw.

Phillips pats Bucky awkwardly on the shoulder and apologises for declaring him dead and he and Carter sweep out of the tent and she pauses just long enough to say primly, "Steve? A word."

Steve flashes Buck a grin and heads out after his lady. Bucky stares after him. Tries not to look jealous. Fails, probably because Howard slings an arm across his shoulder and drawls, "You too, huh?" And Bucky flushes scarlet, shoves Howard back hard enough that he goes stumbling backwards towards the tent.

"Whoa, easy, easy, Barnes. You'll hurt someone if you're not careful," he says, something dark in his eyes.

"The fuck you implying, Stark?" Bucky spits because yeah, James Buchanan Barnes likes boys. James Buchanan Barnes likes Steve Rogers. Hell, he's head over fucking heels with the guy but that don't mean he's gonna spread it around or anything.

Howard smirks and Buck would really, _really_ like to break a few of those oddly perfect teeth. "Awh, come on, Barnes. What's a little joke between friends?"

"We're not _friends_ , Stark," Bucky reminds him.

"Well then," Howard draws himself up, saunters back across to Buck like he's courting one of them dames that fall at his feet so often. Swings his hips just so, curls his mouth into a roguish grin and something, something deep inside fucking _responds_ to that. "If we're not _friends_ there's nothing to ruin."

He touches Bucky's arm with one hand, light and friendly. His other hand goes to Bucky's hip. Squeezes.

Bucky swallows.

"Come on, Barnes," Howard coaxes. The hand on Bucky's arm slides down, down, down to his wrist. Howard tugs, draws Bucky in closer. If anyone saw them right now there'd be no question what Howard was trying to pull. Buck'd find himself beat black and blue or else discharged.

"What else you gonna do?" Howard asks. "Drink yourself through another barrel of wine - which isn't healthy and we really should talk about but _come on._ You haven't got anything better to do tonight, right?"

And you know what, Bucky really doesn't.

\---

He can't tell what Howard was expecting, whether he thought Bucky'd be timid and inexperienced as lamb or the kind that liked it rushed and hurried, eyes squeezed shut so he can pretend it's not another man he's rutting up against. Bucky's no saint, he's had all kinds.

With Howard though, he's free to take his time and he gives as good as he gets.

Howard is messy kisser. _Filthy,_ actually. All tongue and teeth sliding and scraping and drawn out little growls and gasps. His hands are _everywhere:_ pressing in to Bucky's hips, running up and down his sides, pressed up underneath Bucky's shirt against fevered skin, dipped low under the waistband of Buck's skivvies.

It's dizzying, every touch is _electric._ He leans in, cants his hips upwards, presses as close to Howard as he possibly can and closes his eyes, tries to imagine it's blond hair instead of dark he's tangling his fingers through, blue eyes rather than brown. Howard's probably doing the same, Bucky thinks but Howard makes a piss-poor Steve stand in. Bucky wonders if he's any better.

"Hey, hey," Howard says, low against Bucky's throat. "Calm down there, Barnes. We got all evening." Howard's hands are in Buck's trousers, closing around him loosely. It's all Bucky can do not to buck up into them.

They're safe in Howard's lab, behind locked doors and verbal warnings. No one's about to barge in on them but there's still a part of Bucky that's chanting, _Steve'll find out, Steve'll find out, Steve'll find out._ He'll never look at Bucky the same way again. He'll regret marching across France to save him.

Howard squeezes and Bucky hisses. Howard smirks against his throat.

Maybe he's a little more sensitive than usual but in his defence, he has just spent a week - a month? - strapped to a table being jabbed with needles.

"Well, you better get moving, Stark," he hisses, against Howard's ear. "'Cos I'm starting to get bored." He bites down on the lobe, to iterate his point and Howard chuckles.

"Yeah? Your body's telling a different story."

"Don't flatter yourself," Bucky says. "I'm picturing someone else."

Steve would be gentle, Bucky thinks. He'd have to _beg_ for Steve to be rougher. Maybe Steve would like that. Maybe Steve would smirk and growl, _what's the magic word, Buck?_

"You and me both, slugger," Howard says.

His hands dip lower. " _Fuck,_ " Bucky breathes as he's tugging Howard's trousers down.

Maybe Steve would stay gentle. Take it nice and slow. No teeth, no nails, no hurried, dry-palmed strokes. Kisses slow and deep, gentle touches, taking Bucky apart with ease.

Howard takes them both in hand. Bucky bites his lip as Howard's eyes flutter shut. He wonders what Howard's thinking, wonders what Steve he's picturing.

To their credit, neither of them finish moaning the wrong name. Howard presses their foreheads together in the aftermath, one hand gripping the back of Bucky's neck, loose and sweaty. "You ain't half bad, Barnes," he pants.

Bucky grins, the kind of grin that had girls back home falling at his feet. (The kind of grin that told boys to meet him in the alleyway, in the abandoned warehouse by the docks.)

"And you're still an ass, Howard," he says. He steps away, crosses to the door and glances back over his shoulder. Howard's laughing, pulling a packet of Lucky Strikes out of his left pocket with his trousers still around his ankles.

"We'll see who's an ass in a few weeks time when you get tired of pining again, Barnes," he says, around his cigarette.

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky says flippantly.

He'll try not to let this become a thing.


End file.
